


Charge of the King

by TheWritingMagi



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dúnedain reader, Eventual Smut, F/M, Other, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingMagi/pseuds/TheWritingMagi
Summary: Aragorn, now High King of Gondor and Arnor, sends his most trusted commanders, last leaders of the Dúnedain, alongside the rangers of Ithilien on a quest to extinguish the rallying orcs of the North. Their charge is perilous, but even so, the love of two commanders may yet bring hope once again to the race of men.[Reader x Faramir]





	Charge of the King

“The king wishes to see you, Commander.”

Glancing up from your book, of course called  _ The Battle Strategies of the Second Age _ , you nodded to the messenger. Once they left, you shut  _ Battle Strategies _ and gave your armour a quick look. It was nothing more than a piece of your past now, having been long neglected in the calm years since the end of the Third Age and Sauron’s demise.

Not that you at all resented such peace among the land; the only conflict now was the remaining orcs left in Sauron’s wake, and political disputes with the nobles of Gondor, the latter of which Aragorn still struggled to handle as kingly as possible. You smirked to yourself at the image of him, your friend, captain and king, one of the saviors of Middle-Earth, and the wielder of the great Flame of the West Andúril, at the end of his patience with the greedy nobles and falling to bickering with them over the welfare of Gondor. The Lady Arwen was an enormous help to him when they came around, being the far more diplomatic one of the two monarchs.

But what could your king require of you now, one of his trusted lieutenants and a member of his royal guard? Surely he would not call on you for political advice, as he would Raithedír, which could be asked of his advisors and better answered by them. Aragorn would also not ask you to leave his side as an envoy or an ambassador unless it was urgent. A request to deliver to the Dúnedain rangers under your commander perhaps?

Or maybe Algaron was shadowing him too well again, which your fellow lieutenant and guard was known to do when it came to the king of Gondor. Love for Aragorn was too light a word for the eccentric man; worship was better suited to him. The king was grateful to no end for Algaron’s loyalty, but the recent years of castle life had all but adhered him to Aragorn, and your king had to often ask that you take over the personal guard of himself and his queen just to get rid of Algaron.

The reason behind Aragorn’s summons aside, it had been several a day since you had seen Aragorn, as he was tied up with the Council over the rebuilding of Fornost, the capital of Arnor in the North. It would be good to speak with him again and would break the streak of boredom you had fallen into.

As it was not a formal summons accompanied by a note of intent, you belted on a dark tunic embolized with the white tree of Gondor, loosely tied your leather vambraces and greaves, and pulled on your worn ranger boots from your days of adventuring. To complete your presentation, you wore the ring Arwen and Aragorn had gifted you to symbolize your rank at their sides, a thick gold band with an elvish diamond from Lady Arwen embedded in the center. Algaron and Raithed ír had similar rings, as Aragorn’s other lieutenants, but respectively instead with a ruby hailing from Arnor and emerald from the Shire. Arwen had disclosed to you that the diamond in your ring was made from the same diamond that resided in the Evenstar, her gift to Aragorn as a token of her love.

“It connects you to him, and him to you,” the queen had smiled after her husband’s coronation. “For his debt to you. Our debt.”

“Surely I am not worthy of such a gift, my Lady,” you had stammered in return, staring at both the ring she placed in your hand and at Arwen in disbelief. You were nothing more than a ranger of the North: saving a friend’s life was something you would do for anyone, not just Aragorn. And the Evenstar held Arwen’s life within it as well.

“You have served him faithfully, and when he has needed you most, you answered. For that, he has sworn his life to you as you have sworn yours to him. It is only right that I recognize that, and swear my own life to you in this form. My life and Aragorn’s life are now in your hands, [Name], and I know you will keep them safe.”

Monumental words from your queen, and words you lived by, knowing she and your king had put their trust in you above all others, even above  Raithed ír, whom Aragorn had grown alongside and considered a brother by blood.

You found the same man in the corridor once leaving your chambers, armed with only a belt knife. “You as well?” you asked, grasping his arm in greeting. “I can at least put my mind at ease that our Lord doesn’t want me to pry Algaron from him.”

Raithed ír snorted, falling into step with you. “No, I think it may be something of more importance this time.”

“You were told more?”

The much taller  Dúnedain man paused in his response, and you sensed his hesitation but did not voice as such.

“Aragorn has been receiving reports of increased orc activity in Rohan, as well as in the Misty Mountains,” Raithed ír informed you as the two of you approached the king’s drawing room. “Him, as well as the queen, have been sensing that evil is on the rise again.”

“So soon?” you sighed despairingly, having hoped, along with the rest of Middle-Earth, that peace would prosper for years to come before dark forces corrupted it. But only three years after Sauron’s demise?

“Ah, my friends, welcome,” Aragorn greeted once you and  Raithed ír entered, bowing to your king, though he looked as regal as he did in Rohan when the  Dúnedain had answered their lord’s call almost four years ago. His loose tunic hung over his taut shoulders and chest, and he looked as if he had not slept for many a day. “Come, gather here,” he gestured to the table he stood studiously over. A quick look around told you that only the three of you were present; Algaron must have been in the presence of the queen elsewhere.

Obeying, you both stepped forward to see maps strewn over the stone surface of Aragorn’s war table. He rarely used it, but now, it seemed as if there were not enough space for all of the king’s plans. You glanced up at him. “What do you command of us, my lord?” you asked, having spotted  _ Angmar _ among the locations.

The Dúnedain chieftain looked to meet your gaze, heavy as it was. Staring at them, you saw that they spoke of despair, and something deeper. A conflict waged itself within your king, and you clenched your jaw in anticipation at it.

“Sauron’s armies are rallying once more,” Aragorn finally confided, standing tall and crossing his arms. His grey eyes watched the table closely now, leaving your gaze. “Riders from the North say that Angmar is infested with orcs as of late.”

“Do we know what they rally to?” you asked, looking once more to the maps and regions around Angmar. “Surely they do not mean any true harm any longer. Perhaps pillaging to survive, but I doubt that is something we cannot contain.”

Aragorn chewed his lip, brows furrowed in thought. “I just received word from Mirkwood this morning. That is why I summoned you both here today.” His gaze shifted to you and his father’s sister-son. “Legolas Greenleaf sent an envoy from the Woodland Realm, speaking of a master the orcs follow. One who is called  _ Kulshodar _ by those he commands.”

You frowned now, recognizing the Black Speech.  _ Monster. _ “They follow out of fear.” It was not a question.

Aragorn nodded. “Whatever power this master wields, it is enough to hold dominion over the will of orcs. He is amassing them in the ruined fortress of Angband.”

“The Iron Prison,” Raithed ír breathed, surprised as you were. “Those gates were sealed, by old magic. Only a great evil could ever force them open again.”

“An evil as powerful as Sauron,” you agreed, holding your breath in horror. “How can there possibly be anything that dark be left in the world?”

Your king sighed heavily, keeping his expression level. “There is always shadow where there is light,” he spoke begrudgingly. “If a new enemy has arisen to threaten Middle-Earth, we must destroy him before his legions descend upon the North. We must make haste, for they will set their sights upon the Shire first, for that is where those who have destroyed evil before hail from.”

Aragorn spoke fondly of the hobbits who had ended the War of the Ring. His desperation was understandable. “What must we do?”  Raithed ír stepped forward, a look of determination gracing his weathered features. A good five and ten years older than his cousin,  Raithed ír had long since passed his hundredth year, and his age was beginning to show. With hair once as dark as his kinsman’s, it was now peppered with streaks of white, his close-shaved beard the same. He had been valiant and strong in the War of the Ring, but his wounds had healed slower and pain was a greater strain on him than it was on you or Aragorn. Nonetheless, he remained Aragorn’s sole heir, as Arwen had produced no child as of yet.

As you thought of this, you could feel, deep down, that Aragorn would never send his dear cousin, whom he treated a brother, on a quest that would endanger his life. The answer dawned on you, and suddenly Aragorn’s conflicted eyes from earlier made perfect sense.

“You mean to send me to Angmar and vanquish this  _ Kulshodar. _ ”

Both Aragorn and  Raithed ír glanced to you, both only the latter held surprise in his grey eyes.

You blinked and felt the weight of Aragorn’s task settle upon your shoulders. “You send me because you know not if I will return.”

Raithed ír’s eyes flew wide. “No, he would never send you to your death, [Name]!” Silence fell, and  Raithed ír then looked in horror to Aragorn when he did not protest. “Would you?”

Aragorn ignored his cousin, holding your gaze. “I send you because you are the only one I can trust with this, [Name]. I send you because I know you are strong enough to return to Gondor. I will know if you are in grave danger,” his eyes fell on your ring, “and will give you all the help I can.”

He now stepped around the stone war table and took your shoulders in his hands. Gazing into what felt like your very soul, he murmured, “I only trust you with this, and even if you are leagues away, I will protect you with all the strength of  Númenór.”

Your heart pounded, knowing he spoke the truth to you. You remained fearful, though, and ground your teeth. “Many will die under my command. This may decimate the  Dúnedain as we know it. Many will never lay eyes on the White City again. I will take this task you have given me and fulfill it to my utmost, but I do not have the strength to lead people to their deaths.”

Aragorn squeezed your shoulder, empathizing with your pain. “My dear [Name]; I would not hand you such a charge alone.”

 

* * *

Your company numbered 5,000: Dúnedain Rangers, Gondor soldiers, and able-bodied men who volunteered themselves. You felt doubt creep into your heart when you had first gazed upon the gathered, but knew if you were to survive and lead as many as you could back to Gondor in the foreseeable future, you would need to place your faith in them. They were under your command, and it was your duty to eradicate the threat in the Misty Mountains; you had no choice but to believe in those who followed you.

Once Raithed ír had blessed you with old Edain hymns and gifted you with his own personal Elvish blade, Arondite (“The Shadow Bane,”  Raithed ír had said sadly. “May it serve you now in this returning dark time.”), Aragorn told you to travel further north to Ithilien, where your fellow commander awaited with another several thousand men.

As you entered Ithilien days later, you came upon the stronghold entrance of the newly reclaimed Minas Ithil, once Minas Morgul under the rule of the Dark Lord. Now, the shining gates were guarded by a tall marble statue depicting the late Boromir son of Denethor astride a stallion and in full armour. Past the statue, your host and fellow commander for the journey stood awaiting you and your company’s arrival.

You raised an arm in greeting. “Ho, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor!” you called, bringing your horse to a halt. “[Name], member of the Royal Guard of the High King, calls for your aid!”

Stepping from your horse, Faramir son of Denethor and brother of Boromir came forward and grasped your arm with respect. “Commander,” he acknowledged. Releasing your grip, he said, “My rangers are at your service. His Majesty sent word of your charge; you know the North better than I and my own, so we shall follow your lead.”

You gazed upon the Ithilien ranger, taking in his unruly blonde hair tied back and the softness of his features. Your eyes narrowed, assessing him. “What are your ranks, Steward?”

“Three thousand strong, Commander,” he replied with hardly a moment’s hesitation. You nodded, hiding your fears.  _ Eight thousand men will not bring down a rallying army skulking away in Angmar. _

“Can you be ready by dawn?”

Faramir smirked at the suggestion. “With all due respect, Commander, we have been ready since the Dark Lord fell.”


End file.
